


Never Trusted Tomorrow

by SaphireCorona



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Cowboy Love, Dancing, F/M, Kissing, Random - Freeform, Running Away, Shooting, Slow Burn, Stealing, Thieving, aint no one getting sick, bored, chapter 2, the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaphireCorona/pseuds/SaphireCorona
Summary: "Oh, you love this heart and this six-string, girl, but they've been out of tune for some time."...You've gotta love yourself a fire...especially if it's a slow burner because Arthur is a stubborn man when it comes to love.





	1. Stranger Encounter

My Clayton was a mean drunk but, when he was sober, he was the goddamn devil in worn-out boots and dusky hair that was as unkempt as his beard. He had a hard hand that was quick to strike if the wrong words left my mouth; which they often did. I’d had the misfortune of being married to him for the past three years and every year was slowly becoming a fight for survival. Treading on thin ice couldn’t compare to voyaging across the tumultuous sea of his temper day in and day out, so when he bellowed for me to saddle up the horse, ride into town and buy him another week’s supply of drink, I took off faster than a rabbit running from a coyote. 

He’d given me far too much money and I only purchased five or six bottles. I kept a small amount of the change tucked away against my chest, under the fabric of my dress. For months now, I’d slowly been stashing it away in a hollowed-out tree trunk a few minutes walk from my back door. It stood guard beside a pig pen and the noise and smell kept any looters from venturing too close for a look. At night, I dreamed of the day when I’d have enough money to turn tail and get as far away from him as possible and start a life of my own where I’d never have to answer to a man like him ever again. 

Despite the heat of the sweltering sun lighting up the open blue sky, I had been in no rush to get home to him, but this detour I had found myself in was certainly not ideal by any means. 

After shyly purchasing up most of the stock of liquor from the general store in Valentine, I had decided to take the long way home. It was a nice day and this time of year made for the most scenic sights that I’d ever seen and I took the path less traveled every chance I could. The trees spilled over with vibrancy, the wildflowers bloomed in every color imaginable, and the sound of the birds helped me forget about what I was riding home to. 

I had taken this road a handful of times without ever encountering a problem but today, as I had been watching a flock of birds take flight from a large oak, a couple of snakes had slithered in front of my dapple’s hooves and before I knew it, she was snorting and making shrill sounds of panic that made me wince. I tried to calm her while holding onto the saddle and the fragile bag of bottles, but she had always been a skittish animal and there was nothing I could have done to keep her from bucking me off and sprinting away into the woods with the small pistol in the saddlebag--my only means of defense. 

To top it all off, during my fall to the dry earth, I lost hold of the bag and I heard the deafening sound of the glass shattering when it crashed against a rock buried into the gentle slope of the hill. When I saw the gin and whiskey seep into the ground, I began to wonder if it was even worth walking home. I knew he’d be angry as all get out. Not only would I be returning late but I’d be empty-handed. 

My cheap, sun yellow dress was mottled with dirt and mud, and when I stood, I began to notice the numerous tears along the backside where the small, jagged rocks cushioned my landing. My ankle hurt something awful but by the end of the day, I’d be lucky if I didn’t go to sleep with a broken rib and a black eye. 

I stumbled to my feet and went for the soaked bag of broken glass. I opened it up, hoping that one bottle might have been saved, but I could hardly tell the tops from the bottoms and I let out a longspun, dreadful sigh at the sight. 

Just when I thought my flame of hope had been extinguished, I heard the beating of hooves coming from behind. I turned, expecting to see my cowardly grey horse but was instead greeted by a strong buckskin that must have been nearly twice the size of mine. Overwhelmed with a fresh assortment of anxieties, I glanced up against the sun to try and see its rider. 

“Everythin' alright there, ma'am?” a deep, gravelly voice asked kindly. I raised my hand to block the glare from my eyes but could scarcely see his gaze from under the worn, black, hat that had what looked like a bullet hole on the edge. He tilted his head to the side as he waited for my reply and I could see the well-trimmed, dark chestnut beard that hugged his jaw and became lost in the feathered edge of his honey-colored hair. 

“Oh,” I moved my hand to wipe the trickle of sweat off my forehead, “my, um, my horse got spooked by some snakes and took off into the woods without me.” I paused, gnawing on my lip as he stared down at me. “You haven’t happened to see any loose horses by chance, have you, mister?” 

He gave a curt shake of his head and looked into the woods for a moment, “Can’t say that I have.” His horse snorted in impatience and began to dig into the ground with its hoof. I watched, wary of his movements, as the man tugged at the reins to wordlessly scold the behavior. “Where you headed to?” he continued. 

I looked over my shoulder in the direction I had been going. “Back home, outside of Cumberland Forest, not too far from Emerald Rach.” The small cabin I called home wasn’t anything special. It had one room and a kitchen with a fireplace that kept it moderately warm in the bleak winter months. My dream was always to have a home built for me, but even though Clayton worked at a lumber mill, he refused to expend any unnecessary energy when he was home. With what money he sparsely put forth, we were able to buy a well-used home that needed a handful of repairs; not that he planned on fixing anything. 

His contemplative sigh drew my attention back to his husky lilt. “That’s a ways from 'ere. You need a ride?” He leaned forward in the saddle, crossing his wrists and resting them on the horn to stretch his back.

Half expecting him to pull out a gun and rob me for all that   
I had left, my lips parted in aphonic surprise. “That’s very kind of you, mister, but I don’t want to be a burden. Besides, it’s a beautiful day for a walk.” Though, it wouldn’t be so beautiful by the time I got home with a swollen ankle, a torn dress, and no alcohol. 

He smiled, either in appreciation or amusement, at my positivity. It was a comforting sight. “Ain’t no problem at all. I’m makin' my way there already.” he pointed down the trail with a fingerless leather-gloved hand. 

“Really?” His offer was beginning to become more tempting by the minute. “Well, I’d sure appreciate the help.” I took a few steps towards his horse to let it smell my hand before stroking the strip of white fur between its calm eyes. It let out a soft snort of approval and nudged my palm when I stopped.

“ ‘f’course, hop on.” he moved forward in his saddle and outstretched his hand for me to grab onto. Before I could ask to use the stirrup to lift myself up, he had me up and off my feet and settled in behind him. I blew the coffee-colored locks of hair out of my eyes and breathed a quiet laugh at his promptness.

Hesitantly, I rested my hands on his side to keep myself from falling off when he spurred his buckskin into motion. “Thank you, sir, thank you,” I couldn’t speak my gratitude enough, but I thought it best to leave it at twice for now and save the rest for later. 

“Jus’ let me know when we’re close,” he replied, his eyes ahead of him. The plodding of hooves against the dirt put my mind at ease again, and I let myself relax in the slightest. As I took in my new surroundings, I began to notice the fine, black leather his saddle had been crafted in, as well as the smell of smoke, dirt, and sweat that clung to his dark overshirt. It reminded me of the summer nights I enjoyed so much as a child, the nights that I no longer had. 

He clicked at his horse to goad her into a job and the thin, leather strips swaying from his hat tapped me on the cheek from the jolt of speed. It was then when I realized I had been leaning a bit too close to him. Flustered, I regifted the space that had been between us, grateful that my hot-headed husband hadn’t seen me so close to another man. As mean as he was to me, he was always brimming with defensive jealousy. It made it hard for me to go anywhere with or without him. 

As we passed into the shade of the forest once more, he spoke, “If you don’t mind me askin’, what are you doin' out here alone? Awfully dangerous in these parts.” 

“Getting some supplies in Valentine. Closest store there is.” I was reluctant to give the entire truth. 

Not only had I gone to town to feed Clayton’s bad habit, but I had also gone to support my own ill-intentioned endeavors. I wasn’t proud of it, in fact, it wracked me with guilt, but I often stole pocket watches, misplaced wedding bands, and other cheap valuables from the passed out drunks in the alley by the local saloon. It was wrong, I knew it with all my heart, but once I sold them to the fence in Emerald Ranch, I got closer to cutting out on Clayton and earning my freedom back. It eased the guilt ever so slightly. 

“And where are these supplies? On the horse?” his broad shoulders shifted with a chuckle. His muted yet exuberant laugh may have been at my expense but it made me smile. 

“Yeah,” my dismay could be heard clear as day in my drawled answer. 

He hummed as if he meant to console me. “Got scared of some snakes, you said?” I replied with a hum and a nod of my own and he shook his head at the notion. No doubt he didn’t experience such plights with his horse. “Must not get outside much,” he guessed; correctly. 

“No, she mostly takes care of the weeds and keeps the grass short if you know what I mean.” I paused the conversation to point my hand towards the less traveled dirt path. “You can take a left up here.” With a sharp nod and flick of the reins, he changed direction. 

“Hmm,” he collected the reins in one hand so he could scratch at his beard with the other, “well, hopefully, she finds her way back home.”

I gave a shrug, “I’m sure she will. She ain’t that brave, but she’s smart.” That was the most I could say about her. Just like everything else in my life, she, too, was cut-rate and inefficient. “What brings you over here? You hunting?” There was no dismissing the two revolvers attached to his hip, the bandolier of bullets strapped across his chest, and the two rifles strung to his saddle. I may not have considered myself a woman of the outdoors, but I knew he had secrets of his own. He wasn’t just an innocent rancher passing between towns. Judging by the guns, bloodstains and sweet tobacco smell that clung to his jacket, I dared to think he might have been an outlaw. 

When I was in town, I'd overheard the locals talking about a peculiar group of new faces causing havoc in the saloon. Amid a bar fight, someone had gotten thrown through a window that a few young men were boarding up and some fella named Tommy was nearly beaten to death. Fleetingly, I wondered if the man in question was the man with the reins. He didn't seem the type though, helping a perfect stranger find her way home and all.   
  
Regardless, my heart skipped to my throat at the thought of being so close to someone so dangerous.

From behind, I caught the corner of his mouth lift with a smirk, “Not particularly. Just takin’ care of some business in Emerald Ranch.”

“Strange place, Emerald Ranch. Don’t care for it much but if you got anything to sell, talk to Seamus. He’s got a stable on the edge of town. He’ll give you a good price to lighten your load.”

I didn’t consider Seamus a friend by any means but he was nice enough and we had formed an odd comradery over the years. When he’d caught me pickpocketing around the Ranch late one night, he offered to buy what I stole rather than turn me in. Ever since then, we’d been helping one another make money. 

He delayed his response as if he wasn’t sure what to think of my suggestion and I feared I'd said too much. “I’ll...keep that in mind. Thank ya.” Thoughtfully, he pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder at me. “Say, you know anyone by the name of Lilly Millet?” 

I pushed back the locks of hair that had yet again fallen in my face as we rode and shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure. I’ve run into her a couple of times. She a friend of yours?” 

“No,” he chuckled quietly at the prospect, “not at all.”

Then, I smirked. “She owe you money? She’s always asking for money whenever I see her.” One would think that she would take a hint after the fourth or fifth time, but she was a persistent woman when it came to piling up her debts. 

“She does, actually.” his comely face darkened with the tint of a scowl. 

“Well, she’s got some brute named Cooper protecting her now. I’m guessing she owes a lot of people a lot of money. It’s a miracle no one’s done her in yet.” I shook my head in ridicule. Though, I wasn’t sure how much room I had to judge. “Just up this here road, not far now.” I gestured to the flattened grass trail that led to my home on top of a minute, sloped hill. We rode on in silence, save for the clopping of hooves and the most subtle hum of an unfamiliar song from his content smile. 

“Well, here we are,” he brought us to a stop at the foot of the gravel path leading to my front porch. Part of me wanted to beg of him to keep on riding, drop me off in Emerald Ranch or in some other town far away from here, but I didn’t. “Nice little place you got here. Pretty,” he observed with a nod of his head.

His cordiality continued to be a welcome sound, even if it was feigned. I knew my small cabin looked worse for wear and the unsightly weeds were beginning to encroach upon the faded front steps. If it hadn’t been for the soft glow of the lantern from the inside, one might think it had been abandoned. 

“It ain’t much but it’s home,” I sighed despairingly, knowing I would never have anything I could call my own and take pride in. “Thank you again, mister, you’re a true gentleman.” He gave a nod and offered a strong hand to help me back on my feet. Back on steady ground, I straightened out my dress and reached for the money clip I had tucked away. It wasn’t much, maybe twenty dollars or so, but I’d rather him have it than have Clayton find it. “Here, take this. I wish I had more but it’s the least I can do.” I offered. 

He held it in his hand only to place it back into mine. “That’s very kind of you, Miss, but you don’t have to. I imagine you’ll need to buy some more supplies with that there money.” he drawled politely. 

I smiled and refuted his offer, placing the money clip into his palm and forcing his fingers to close around it. “Please, sir, take it. I’ll feel awful if you don’t.” 

His sigh of defeat preceded the surrendering shake of his head, “Alright, then, thank you.” He smiled for me and I felt my cheeks grow hot at the attention. I didn’t receive much kindness nowadays. “It was nice talking with you, Miss…?” he left the words hanging on the cliff of a goodbye.

“Martins. Annabelle Martins.” I replied, meeting his gunmetal blue eyes and wishing I had more time to stare into them. 

“Miss Martins,” he tipped his worn, well-fitted hat in regard. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan.” I gave a half-hearted curtsy in reply and he laughed when I did. 

“You take care now, Miss. Don’t be wanderin' these woods alone.” He gathered the reins back in his hand and dug the heel of his boot into his horse’s side with a click of his tongue. I laughed to myself at the thought. I surely had no intentions of reliving my traveling troubles anytime soon. 

“Same to you, Mr. Morgan, thank you,” I called after him. He gave a brisk wave of his hand as he rode on down the road, his horse gathering speed after receiving another spur of encouragement. I let out a sigh once he was out of sight and looked to the front door of my home. Steeling my nerves, I made my way inside, holding onto the small smile Mr. Morgan had left me with to bring me a modicum of composure and courage.

All I could do was hope that Clayton was in a forgiving mood today. 


	2. A Fortuitous Social Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, they say you get lost in the complexion and the structure of a well-placed smile."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter sucks, but I, too, suck so it's okay.
> 
> Happy reading!

I winced in the small mirror that sat upon the dresser in our bedroom as I dabbed the cut that crested my cheekbone with a damp cloth. Though I had anticipated it, the lilac bruise that had flowered around my eye still made my stomach ache with dread every time I looked at it. 

Sighing, I gave up on trying to make amends with my wounds and wrung the cloth out before I draped it over the wooden peg on the dresser to let it dry. 

He had been angrier than a riled up hornet's nest, which was more than I had predicted. It didn’t help that I came home just as he was finishing the last bottle. When I walked through the door with nothing but a scuffed up dress and a sore ankle, the first thing he asked was, “What took you so damn long?”. As I tried to explain what had happened and how I, along with the liquor, had been thrown from the back of the horse, I was cut short by the back of his hand cracking against my cheek. After a short fall to the floorboards, I begged him to stop while he was ahead but he picked me up by the back of my dress and tossed me into the kitchen, demanding I make myself useful and start dinner. 

With what little provisions we had tucked away in the cabinets, I put a pot of stew on the stove to simmer as I started a dough for biscuits. As I kneaded and collected bits of flour beneath my nails, I stared out the window all the while, thinking about the small glimmer of generosity I had experienced amid my midmorning calamity. Outlaw or not, Mr. Morgan was certainly something else; ruggedly kind and equally handsome. Too handsome for me, I dare say.

Why couldn’t I have found a man like that, I thought to myself. A mere stranger managed to show me more respect than my husband ever tried to convey. Yet here I was, trapped in a loveless marriage with a man that saw me as anything but a wife. A cook, a servant, a ragdoll, and a burden, but not a wife. 

Over the years, I had come to accept that perhaps I was never meant for a peaceful life, but the cards I had been dealt seemed awfully unlucky nowadays.   
  
Once the biscuits were in the oven, I had left the kitchen to steal away into the bedroom to clean the specks of blood from my cheek and attempt to ease the swelling in my upper lip. I met my reflection in the opaque mirror and sighed, my ribs aching in protest as I did. When I took my hair out of its bun and shook the tangles out, my headache made its untimely reappearance. 

After today, I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto my bed and close my eyes to the world for the rest of the month, but when I realized how the time had gotten away from me and that the faint smell of smoke was drifting throughout the cabin, I raced to the kitchen to find the biscuits were more than done and teetering on becoming tinder. 

“Damn it all to hell,” I muttered to myself as I pulled the scorching hot skillet out of the oven. After I set the pan on the top, I shook my hands of the heat and started scraping out the burnt bread so I could put in the small amount of dough I had left for new biscuits. 

Before I came close to having a chance of covering up my mistakes, Clayton came barging in with two drunken left feet, his face redder than a carnation and his full, dark copper-colored mustache dripping with whiskey. “You’re about as useless as they come, you know that?” He shoved me to the side and grabbed a handful of the blackened bread and crushed it between his fingers before throwing the debris to the ground. 

I watched the crumbs fall between the cracks of the wooden floor and held my tongue to keep from yelling at him. After the day I had, the thought of knocking him out with that skillet was starting to sound like a nice plan for a quiet evening. 

“It was an accident, Clayton, I can make more.” With a whiskey drowned laugh, he shook his head at my compromise and knocked the pan onto the floor for good measure. “Dammit, Clayton!” I finally snapped and raised my voice against his actions. “I’ve had about enough of you, you drunken bastard!” 

His twisted smile fell and quickly turned to a stormy scowl. “Don’t you talk back to me, Annie!” he slapped my cheek just hard enough to make me lose my footing and told me to get back to work before he ambled back to his drinking chair. 

Rubbing my cheek, I muttered a few indignations in his direction before I kneeled down to pick up the pan from the floor. As I began to clean up the mess he had made in the kitchen, I heard a sharp but confident knock on the door. I pressed my hands against the floor to stand myself back up and eyed the entrance with frightful suspicion. There had been a few occasions in which our somewhat distant neighbors would come around to investigate the commotion for themselves. Every time had been a distasteful encounter of Clayton shooing them away and telling them to mind their own business while I tended to my wounds and wished someone would give him a taste of his own medicine. But everyone feared my husband, the thewy, lumbering construction worker with a brain made up of whiskey rather than common sense. 

“Get rid of whoever the hell is on my porch, Annie! I ain’t got no more patience to deal with no one after dealing with you!” he yelled from the living room. 

I made no audible reply to him but muttered something under my breath about how I’d like to rid myself of him for good. Regardless, I made my way to the door and cracked it open just enough to get a peek at who it was before I greeted them. 

My heart dropped to my stomach in either distress or excitement. I couldn’t quite tell which. “Mr. Morgan,” I smiled, hoping the dim light of the oil lamp would keep my bloodied bruises in the shadows that the evening had created. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.” As happy as I was to see him again, the timing had been less than ideal. "What can I do for you?" 

He looked up at me from under his hat with the ghost of a smile and shifted his weight and rested one hand against a bear claw embellished belt buckle. "I hope I'm not interrupting your evening. I was just riding back through and thought I'd check on ya after your eventful day." 

“Oh,” I bit down on my lip and tried to think of what to say. The last thing I had ever expected was to have an absolute stranger be concerned about me, “that’s...that’s very kind of you, Mr. Morgan, thank you.” Gaining confidence, I cleared my throat and spoke up, though not loud enough for Clayton to hear, “I’m well, thank you. Still no horse but I’m still hoping she’ll find her way back yet.” As much as I wanted for him to stay, I knew that this moment of reprieve had already met its end. “It is so good to see you, Mr. Morgan, but I’m afraid now isn’t a good time,” I politely bid him goodbye and attempted to retreat back inside. The last thing I wanted was for him to see or hear Clayton’s bellowing rage.

He held a hand out to stop me from closing the door. “Are you alright, Miss Anabelle? Forgive me for asking, but you seem a little out of sorts.” The toe of his boot took a step closer to the entry and I looked up at him. Even without sitting atop a horse, he was certainly tall and just as handsome as I recalled. 

“Oh, of course, Arthur--Mr. Morgan,” I caught my informality and kept it at bay, “you just caught me in the middle of cleaning up after dinner is all.” I lied through my teeth for his own sake. The sooner he was back on the road, the better. 

He replied with a veiled smile and kept his voice placatingly quiet. “Well, if that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to help; to make up for interrupting your evening and all.” his drawl sent a shiver or two down my spine.   
  
“You don’t have to--” I shook my head, somewhat baffled by his generosity; even if he may have had ulterior motives. For all I knew, he could have stopped by to rob me blind. 

“What in the hell is taking you so damn long?! I thought I told you to take care of whoever was at the goddamn door!” The charmed blush in my cheeks drained as soon as I heard Clayton’s voice near the front door and in a matter of seconds, my entire body became as pale as moonlight.   
  
Before I could try to allay his uncalled for anger, I was pulled back by the loose fabric of my dress. I let out a yelp of dread as Clayton took my place at the door and I peered around his shoulder to see Mr. Morgan’s expression.   
  
He gave a curt nod for a greeting and rested his hands on his gun belt again. “Evenin', Mister," though his genteel expression hardened with a defensive chill, his words remained airy.   
  
“Who the hell are you?” Clayton snapped with the touch of a drunken slur.   
  
“Name’s Arthur Morgan, and what should I call you?” His blue eyes caught the golden glow of the light in a heart-stopping amalgam of intimidation and exhilaration.   
  
Clayton was a man of hostiles and calamities, however, and had become accustomed to only speaking in arguments. When Arthur replied with a respectful calmness, it sent Clayton over the edge. “None of your goddamn business. Now get off my property ‘fore I drag you off it.”   
  
“Look, mister, I don’t want to cause no trouble,” he showed his palms to defuse the tension before resting his hands over his belt buckle once more. “I just stopped by to say hello to a friend, is all.” Casual as a lazy Sunday afternoon, his eyes flickered towards me.   
  
Clayton all but snorted in disbelief. “Who?” he questioned. “Her?” He appraised me as if I were a cheap bauble in a store. “Why you want to waste your time talking to this worthless woman? She can’t do one damn thing right!” His words were sharp and directed towards my recent transgressions in the kitchen.   
  
I set his insults aside for the time being. “Clayton, please,” I begged of him to leave well enough alone and go back inside. I knew close to nothing about the man on my porch, other than the fact that he was an outlaw who most likely lacked tolerance for disrespectful drunks.   
  
Mr. Morgan’s lips set into a flat line and his words were taut like a piece of twine about to break. “That ain’t no way to talk to a woman, Clayton. ‘Specially one as delicate as Miss Anabelle here.” His black mottled hat tipped and the minute gold buckle caught the porch light when he nodded towards me.   
  
“Don’t you tell me how to talk to my wife,” Clayton shoved me back inside and out of sight, his hand balled into a fist that I was sure I would meet in the near future. “Now I suggest you leave before I put you in the ground.” he reached for the rarely used and rusted pistol that he kept on the rachitic table next to the front door and I began to panic; whether for him or Mr. Morgan, I didn’t know.   
  
When he pointed it at Mr. Morgan, I stood my ground. “Leave him be, Clayton, he didn’t do nothing except show me some kindness which is more than you’ve ever done!” I shouted at him and grabbed his arm to keep him from doing anything stupid but my actions ended up doing more harm than good.   
  
“Woman, keep your damn mouth shut!” he backhanded me with the pistol and sent me careening back towards the ground, a place I had become well acquainted with over the years. As I struggled to push myself back up, I felt the blood began to trickle from my brow and down the side of my face and my jaw ached something awful.   
  
“Why don’t you keep your damn hands off of her you son of a bitch!” I watched Arthur grab Clayton by the collar of his shirt and throw him off the porch like my husband weighed as much as a small bag of oats. Clayton rolled a few feet in the mud before attempting to stand back up. Too frozen in shock, I watched from the hardwood as Arthur took a few strides off the porch to greet Clayton as soon as he was upright. He grabbed him by undone buttons of his shirt and gave him a shake as rough as a midsummer windstorm. “You ever hit her ‘fore?” 

Though shaken, Clayton managed a sputtered reply, “What I do with my...with my wife is none of your business.”   
  
Arthur pulled his fist back and drove it harshly across Clayton’s face. “Ain’t none of my business if what’s left of your brains is lost on the ground but that don’t mean it’s right.” He punched him again and let him go so he could reacquaint himself with the mud once more. A little too late, I scrambled onto my feet and ran outside only to stop a few steps from them, but they both were blind to my existence. “Now, tell me, Clayton, you been hitting Miss Annabelle?” he leaned down with a threatening glower that put a shiver down my spine.  
  
“I...I...please!” I’d never seen Clayton like this. It seemed the man I married was more of an intoxicated, cowardly church mouse than the hardened worker he claimed to be. Tears were running down his face and getting lost in the concoction of blood and snot that poured from his nose and dripped down his chin. Though it was cruel and dishonorable for me to think such a thought, I found a modicum of joy in seeing him in such a deplorable state.   
  
Arthur seemed to be enjoying himself just as well. “Do I have to beat an answer out of you, mister?” He stood over him, the silver plating of his boots and his ornate spurs covered in muck from the altercation, and grabbed Clayton’s collar for a second time.  
  
My husband covered his face and let out a wail for an answer, “Yes, yes, I’m sorry!” With his willingness to admit his transgressions, one would think he had a noose around his neck.   
  
“I thought as much,” Arthur muttered half to himself and half to the man on the ground before knocking Clayton out cold with one last swing. I gasped and covered my mouth when I heard the hollow knock of Arthur’s fist against Clayton’s skull but said not a word or sound of condemnation against his actions. 

Instead, I found myself more concerned about Arthur’s well being. “Mr. Morgan! Are you okay? Oh, I’m so sorry you had to do that. Clayton can be worse than the devil himself on occasion. After everything you've done for me, oh, I feel awful!” I rushed towards him, for some reason apologizing for him having to witness such barbaric behavior from a man I, often unwillingly, called my husband.   
  
His hand waved away my concern like a persistent fly. “I’m just fine, miss, don’t you worry. Ain’t nothing I ain’t used to,” he assured with a tired grunt. “You alright, Miss Martins? You’ve quite a bruise coming in.” He removed his hat to shake the mud off of it and took a good look at my face before placing it back on.   
  
I pressed the tips of my fingers to the corner of my eye while I looked down upon Clayton’s body. I had far too much adrenaline coursing through my veins to pay much attention to the searing pain. “I’ll be alright, Mr. Morgan but…” I paused, too shy to say the words outright, “Is...is he dead?” Such a cruel nature I harbored inside me to secretly hope that he had, in fact, breathed his last.   
  
Though he had to smother a chuckle, he shook his head. “No, but he’ll be out for a long while, I reckon.” I watched him as he glanced over his shoulder and gave a defined whistle to his horse who had been munching on the grass below the large oak tree across the road. On command, its head lifted with perked ears and it began trotting over to meet him. “Miss Martins, you got any family nearby? Anyone you can stay with?” He turned his attention back to me as he waited for his buckskin.  
  
“None still breathing,” my lips pulled into a faint frown at the thought. Though my mother and father were long passed, it still left a sting whenever I thought about being truly alone in the world.   
  
“Alright then, well listen, if you’d like, you can come with me until you get back on your feet. I’m not dumb enough to believe he’ll wake up to being a changed man if you stay, and there’s a good group of ladies with us that’ll take real good care of ya.” When his horse stopped behind him, he turned his back to dig through his saddlebag for a clean linen. When he offered it to me, I stared at it before I realized he wanted me to use it to clean the blood from my face. “But, Miss Martins, I must confess, we ain’t saints. We steal, lie and kill when we need to.”   
  
Graciously, I accepted his kindness and took the cloth from his hands. With a dainty clearing of my throat, I replied, “If I may, Mr. Morgan, that money I gave to you today. I didn’t come by it honestly.” I dabbed at the scrape below my eye and let my gaze wander to keep from seeing his reaction but he didn’t seem sensed in the slightest. Though, if he truly was an outlaw, there'd be no reason for him to be surprised.   
  
“How so?” When he looked at me, the moonlight caught his cerulean eyes and I could almost see the stars in them.   
  
I lowered the linen and struggled to sew some confidence into my confession. “I...when I go into Valentine...I steal little trinkets, you know, things people won’t miss, and I sell ‘em to the fence in Emerald Ranch for money. I’ve been doing it for years now, trying to save up so I can get gone from Clayton.” Respectable or not, it was nice to get the heavy burden of truth off my chest.   
  
He smirked, or maybe he smiled, it was too hard for me to tell in the lack of light. “Ain’t no need for that now.” he glanced down to my husband’s limp body at his boots as if it was just another man in a long list of people he’d put down.   
  
I looked away from Clayton in a metaphorical attempt to put the past behind me. “No, there ain’t, but I can do my part. I’ve got enough stashed away to support myself. If I can be so bold to take you up on your offer, I won’t be a burden, I swear it!” I gripped his arm and pleaded to him in earnest. These past few months, I had wanted nothing more than to run away and have my freedom returned to me. Now that the opportunity was within arm's reach, I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone steal it away from me.   
  
He chuckled and patted my hand with tender regard before he wiped the mud from his brow and pointed towards the cabin. “Well, go on, then. Get what you can and let’s get gone. You gotta lotta people to meet.” 

* * *

Arthur "Sexy Outlaw" Morgan, at your service. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for anyone who glanced over this. The following chapter will bring in the gang at Horseshoe Overlook and heaven only knows what will happen then. 
> 
> Have a great day!


	3. A New Life Ain't Far From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've been thrown around by some bad ones,  
and a good one was a new thing this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a million apologies for so many things! I finished the game again (cried like a baby, like I knew I would) and then started it again so you know how that steals your time and attention. 
> 
> Anyhow, I hope everyone is healthy and well. I, unfortunately, have this nasty virus so I'm stuck at home which will hopefully allow me writing time!
> 
> Hopefully, this chapter isn't too terrible, it's a bit of a filler chapter to get where I need to be.

I emptied a bag of keepsakes and heirlooms onto Seamus’s rickety, wooden table and the glow of his lantern could be seen in the few, well-kept pieces of jewelry that bounced across the surface. His inquisitive but devious eyes scanned over the baubles before he sighed and looked at me. “What did you do? Rob some poor old crone?” He chuckled as he picked up the plain gold ring that belonged to Clytaon to get a better look at it. I bit my lip at the grim reminder that I had resorted to stealing from my own husband.

I shook my head and tossed the bag to the side. “What happened to not asking questions?” I challenged, doing my best to keep up my confident facade. While none of it had been stolen, it overwhelmed me with just as much guilt to part ways with everything simply because it was all that remained of my family. Among the pile was a necklace, given to me by my mother, an ornate silver watch left to me from my father, and a gold nugget that my brother had found one day while scouring the river. There were less important artifacts such as silver dining ware, earrings, and a belt buckle or two, but it broke my heart to part with any of it nonetheless. 

If I wanted to truly start over, however, I feared that I needed the money. 

Seamus laughed at my brusque reply before giving a final rustle to show he had finished his appraisal. “Well, I can give you $250 for everything.” It was a generous offer. “But first, if I may, why are you looking to sell all of this?” I gave him a terse scowl of frustration, wishing he’d just get on with it and give me the money so I could tuck this awful moment far away in the back of my mind and forget about it. “I’m just asking as a friend, is all.” 

“We ain’t friends, Seamus,” I reminded, “just friendly acquaintances, _ is all _.” Afraid I had been taking far too long already, I looked over to my shoulder to make sure Mr. Morgan hadn’t left me behind. 

Unbothered as a bird in the sun, he leaned against the hitching post his horse had been tethered too, stroking its face and offering it a carrot or two. He had slipped a dark red hunting jacket over his black shirt and the collar of his jacket somehow managed to accent his strong jawline. The whole ordeal somehow made him all the more appealing. 

Unaccustomed to such a handsome, gentle natured man, I shook my mind clear of its amazement and looked back to Seamus, whose dirty blacksmithing apron and greasy, thinning hair served as a harsh reminder of reality. I frowned. “Well, are we done here?” 

At last, he noticed my company. “Say, that feller was here earlier today. Said you was the one who told him about me.” While I remained mute, entirely unsure of what to even say, his imagination continued to roam free. “You ain’t in any kind of trouble are you, Annabelle?” The fact that he felt the need to ask such a question only solidified the possibility of Mr. Morgan being an outlaw, but I thought it best not to linger on that idea. After all, he seemed a better man than my Clayton, whose heart had surely been made of coal. 

“I assure you, Seamus, I am just fine.” I couldn’t stop my voice from reaching higher as my nerves continued to drive it upwards. 

He gave a deliberate nod and reached for his lockbox. “Alright,” he set the heavy container on his table and cracked it open. I waited impatiently, my foot tapping wildly beneath the hem of my dress as he counted to bills out. “Two hundred fifty. No more, no less.” He splayed the money out in front of me so I could check for myself, but I trusted him enough not to shortchange me. 

I stared down at the funds for a moment, doubting all my actions and wondering if I should ask for everything back and go back home. Finally, I encouraged myself to remain resolute in my aspirations. “Thanks, Seamus,” I grabbed the cash and folded it in half so it could be tucked away beneath the fabric of my dress, against my chest. “Thank you for everything.” I bid him goodbye the only way I could, unsure if I would ever see him, Emerald Ranch, or my rundown cabin ever again. 

He folded his arms across his chest and gave me a nod and a kind smile. “Take care of yourself, Miss.” 

When I returned to Arthur, he gave me a once over, taking note of the fact that I no longer had some of my belongings on my person. “Get everything taken care of then?” Before I could answer, he undid the reins from the post and his horse stamped its feet a few times in anticipation. 

“As well as I can, I suppose.” All I had left remained on the back of his horse; and it wasn’t much: a few sets of garments, a warm blanket, and a thick coat to fend off the cold nights. He assured me I wouldn't be in need of nothing else and, in turn, I had left everything else behind. Including that bastard Clayton. With a nod of understanding, he moved towards his saddle to tighten the girth and ensure everything was secure. Meanwhile, I found myself once again taking a shine to his horse and fed it some loose hay from the ground below. 

He mused a chuckle as his blue eyes watched me thoughtfully. “She likes you,” he said with a modicum of surprise as the mare gave me a tender nudge against my chest with her nose. “Consider yourself lucky, Miss, Boadicea don’t like no one.” 

I laughed and somewhat cradled her head in my arms to keep her from knocking me over. Perhaps he was slipping me a white lie to bolster my mood as I couldn’t picture this horse with a mean bone in its body. “Nonsense, she’s sweet. Nothing like Cornbread.”

“Huh?” Though the look on his face wavered between confusion and concern, I found it rather endearing as he had a hardened and rather brooding expression on it otherwise. 

Sheepish, I smiled, forgetful of how foolish of a name I gave my skittish steed. “Oh, Cornbread, that’s what I called my horse.” Though unusual, I found her name more than fitting for her personality. She had about the same amount of courage and brains as a piece of overcooked cornbread. 

He broke into a laugh and his smile was about as rare and beautiful as a blue moon. “Good Lord, no one wonder she ran off.” He waved me over so he could assist up onto his horse. As respectfully as he could, he wrapped his hands around my waist so he could lift up behind his saddle. Once I got settled in, I seemed so far off the ground. “How did you come to name a horse that?” With the toe of his boot in the stirrup, he swung his other leg over and sat down in front of me. 

Putting aside the guilt I felt as a runaway bride, I put my arms around him again to keep from losing balance. “Well, it was her favorite thing to eat, cornbread. She loved it.” I explained. His broad shoulders sifted with a dry laugh and he shook his head just enough to keep me from seeing what I’m sure was a roll of his eyes. 

“Sure, makes sense, I suppose.” He glanced over his shoulder to check on me and I couldn’t help but notice the scar on his chin. “You good?” Forgoing a few teasing remarks, he returned to business. 

I gave a nod, wholly unsure of how I truly felt. I was nervous, to be sure, along with frightened, dazed and excited; a sentiment I hadn’t experienced since leaving the home where I grew up. But unspoken questions landed on my tongue as quickly as rain on a tin roof in a thunderstorm: Would Clayton find me, much less look for me? What if I was being led towards a dismal trap? Could I survive on my own in the ever-diminishing wild West? And good Lord, what kind of married woman was I, running off with some cowboy in the dead of night?! 

“Ain’t too far, maybe about an hour or so.” He pulled the reins to the side to turn the horse around in the direction we was headed. After a click of his tongue, the horse got onto the main road in a steady trot and headed West towards Twin Stack Pass. I hadn’t been this way in quite some time and part of me looked forward to the journey through the desert. 

As the minutes ticked by, we had both allowed for a placid reticence to take over as we rode and I did my best to keep my vexations from spilling out. Arthur, meanwhile, seemed more or less content as his shoulders swayed with the movement of his horse. I kept my gaze trained to the sky or the treeline as we went, really anywhere but on him, as I found myself flustered whenever our eyes met.

A bit of a nervous habit I had, to start humming along to the first tune in my head, but I began to do so without thinking as his horse cheerfully trotted down the dirt path back to its home.

_ Robbing o’ the Northfield Bank, the same I can’t deny. For now, I am a prisoner in a Stillwater jail I lie. _I continued to sing the words in my head in tune with the hum from my contemplative lips. It reminded me of simpler times and with it a comforting warmth. 

Much to my surprise, he caught on and began to sing along in his own husky lilt. “Robbed him of his money and bid him go his way. For which I will be sorry, until my dying day.” 

Despite my talent for singing, I joined him. “And then we rode toward Texas, through dust and fierce heat. Across the Nebraska prairies the Miller boys we did meet.” Like an exhilarating rumble of thunder, he chuckled once more. "No offense, Miss, but I wouldn't expect a fine lady like yourself to enjoy a song about bank robbers and trouble makers." 

Fondly, I sighed through a nostalgic smile. "My brother loved that song. He used to force us all to sing it around the campfire at night when I was young." I'd lost track of how many times we'd sang that tune. "Funny enough, he went and moved to New York to become a doctor. Damn boy always dreamed of being more than what had been planned for him.” Jameson was a smart man and a devoted brother who raised me when my parents couldn't. I missed him terribly when he moved. 

“And did he?” 

“No,” I remained quiet in thought for a moment, “I ain’t quite sure what all happened, but a bad group of men killed him in an alley and robbed him for all he had.” We had received the news a little over a week after it had happened. My momma cried for days after receiving a telegram that her firstborn died a cold, bloody death. I had only been a child and it seemed to take me a few years to realize he weren’t coming back. “Shortly thereafter my Daddy was hanged, wrongfully so.” By the time I’d turn 14, my Daddy had been framed for a crime he didn’t commit. My Daddy was far from an innocent soul, but neither he nor my Mamma deserved to see him swing. With a final sigh, I went on, “Then, before I turned 17, Momma came down with something awful. Doctors could never figure out what was ailing her, but I suspect she died of a broken heart after losing her family.” Much to my regret, she died alone in her bed while I was off at the store getting something to relieve her ailments. 

I could tell he was trying to find the right words to say to something so wrong. “That’s bad business, ma’am, I’m sure sorry.” Though his words were comforting, something about the way his rough voice spoke them sent another shiver down my spine. 

“I appreciate your condolences, Mr. Morgan, but you must forgive me for rambling the way I did. Clayton always said I talked too much for my own good.” Well, his actions spoke louder than his words on that account. 

He shook his head, “Nonsense, Miss Martins, it don’t bother me none.” 

Even though I knew he couldn’t see it, I smiled in appreciation of his gracious behavior. “You’re too kind, Mr. Morgan, truly, but why don’t you tell me about your family? Sounds like a good group of folks you been with.” 

“Some of ‘em are better than others, but they ain’t all bad. We lost a few when we was up in the mountains while the rest of us damn near froze to death and joined ‘em.” He continued one before I could inquire as to why they were in such a forgiving place. “Dutch managed to lead us out. I suppose you could say he’s in charge.” He let the reins fall into his left hand so his right could scratch at his beard and adjust his hat. “And Miss Grimshaw keeps us all in line and the camp from turning into some kind of pigpen. She’ll help you get settled in, I reckon.” I smiled. Sounded like my Mamma. “Then there’s Mr. Pearson, who claims he’s been cooking his whole life but can’t seem to find his way around a stew pot without getting lost.” He scoffed and shook his head as if he’d been the victim to one too many bad dinners. “You cook, Miss?” He changed the subject with an inquisition of my hobbies. 

All too quickly, I nodded. I had always loved cooking, and I had learned from the best. My Mamma taught me everything from bread and pies to venison and fish. “I enjoy it, yes, but whether or not it tastes any good depends on the poor soul who tastes it.” I could never be as good as her, but I liked to believe my cooking didn’t taste all that bad. 

“Well, ain’t nothing worse than Pearson’s cooking. Maybe you can help him get on?” There was a hopeful edge in his voice that I couldn’t say no to. 

“I surely can, as long as I ain’t stepping on any toes, that is.” The last thing I wanted to do was to get on anyone’s bad side. 

“Step away, Miss Martins, I won’t let no one stop you.” he encouraged with a side glance and a smirk. Something about his quick, witty retorts gave me the impression that Mr. Morgan was more of a wiseacre than a heartless criminal. 

Looking up at the stars as we rode along made me sigh in quietude. If I could lie down in the grass and try to count them all, I would. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything, I owe you more than I can afford.” I owed him both my life and my wellbeing; two things that were difficult to repay.

“Don’t thank me yet, Miss, you might see us all in proper light and turn tail.” he laughed under his breath as if there were some kind of joke I was unaware of. 

Playful like, I slapped his shoulder to feign offense. “Oh, nonsense, Mr. Morgan, ain’t much that can scare me off. I ain’t as delicate and innocent as all that.” Surely, I was no outlaw, as I suspected he was, but I had my own book of sins that I wrote in. 

As we crossed the railway, he sharply turned us off the road, towards a path hidden by thickets of berry bushes and old trees. In the distance, I could see the soft orange glow of a fire and the murmurs of friendly discussion. I felt my heart skip a few dozen beats in anticipation as I still tried to sort through the parts of my life that had gotten turned upside down, but he managed to console me with a few simple words, “If that’s the case, Miss Martins, I reckon you’ll fit right in then.”

* * *

Oh, Lord, he's fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again, for the shortness. The next part I have written, I didn't really wanna separate from the next chapter so I'll tack it along with chapter 4! They'll be going to town and it'll be a spin on the Jimmy Brooks mission.
> 
> Take care y'all!


End file.
